Now We're Cooking
by mrsbeas
Summary: "Derek was going to kill his therapist for convincing him that this wasn't a terrible idea." -or- Derek takes a cooking class and it's sort of a disaster. But not totally.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi Guys! The story is completely written and I plan to post on a weekly basis-I'm just working on edits now. This chapter is unbeta'd, so I fully own all mistakes. Feel free to let me know if you find any glaring errors. Hope you enjoy!**

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Derek was going to kill his therapist for convincing him that this wasn't a terrible idea. He knew that it hadn't been a particularly good idea, but now that he was standing at the back of the classroom—

This was obviously a terrible idea.

Annoyed, he searched the already crowded room for an empty seat. The only ones left were at the front of the room, which wasn't much of a surprise considering that Derek's luck was completely nonexistent. Huffing out a sigh, he cursed his therapist again before heading down the aisle, shrugging off his heavy leather jacket as he walked, boots thumping ominously against the floor with each step.

Eyes followed him as he made his way forward, the weight of the stares making him uncomfortable in his own skin. His good looks had caused him nothing but pain in the past, and if he could, he would just fade into the background, where he was much more comfortable.

Derek's family was killed in a fire when he was in high school, and since then he'd actively sought a lifestyle that let him limit human interaction as much as possible. He and his older sister Laura were the only ones not home that night, each staying at a friend's house when it broke out, and just like that everything in their lives changed. After all these years, the anger and sadness at what they lost could still be overwhelming at times, and it was easier for Derek to keep to himself.

He just wasn't very good with people.

Laura had thought things would get better over time, but after an incident involving a sobbing waitress and banishment from her favorite diner, she put her foot down and demanded that he finally start seeing a therapist. As a general rule, it was easier for Derek to just do what she asked than argue with her. He hated disappointing his last living relative even though he'd done it often enough since they'd been on their own.

After a few sessions, his therapist had suggested—if he wasn't vehemently opposed to air quotes as a general rule, Derek would have used them there—that he take some sort of class, something that might help develop his social skills a bit. They went through a brochure for upcoming classes at the local community college and he could have sworn that Dr. Morrell's eyes lit up when he lingered in the cooking section.

Fire still made Derek skittish and he hated that he felt a little nervous every time he turned on the stove in his apartment. She thought it would be a great idea for him to kill two birds with one stone, and work on both his social skills and aversion to fire by properly learning basic cooking techniques.

Derek agreed to start with one class and if that went well he would consider signing up for the Basic Skills series. He chose "Your Home Steakhouse" because the menu featured two of his favorite things—meat and potatoes. However, he began to regret that decision as soon as the class full of women looked at him like he was the meat on the menu.

He stashed his jacket on a coat rack in the corner of the room before stepping behind an empty table at the front, set up with two small burners. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a woman gathering her things and start moving toward his table.

Great.

Dropping her things unceremoniously, she held out her hand to him. "Hi. I'm Erica."

She looked almost predatory with long blonde hair, red lips and wicked smirk. Derek wanted nothing more than to ignore her, but that wasn't why he was there. He grasped her hand, replying with a terse, "Derek."

She raked her eyes up and down his body and self-consciousness took over, making him wish that he could pull his jacket back on and hide from her gaze.

"So," she said, oblivious to his discomfort, "what brings you here? Learning how to cook a special meal for your special someone?"

"Something like that," he responded. Maybe if she thought he was taken she'd back off.

Her lips turned down into a pout. "That's too bad." Suddenly, her tone changed into something more conspiratorial. "I wasn't expecting this class to be such a vagina-fest, you know? I mean, Appetizers 101, sure, but the steak course?" Derek's eyebrows rose up on his forehead, but the girl didn't seem to notice. "At least Stilinski's teaching. He's good, and not too shabby to look at, either."

Sheriff Stilinski was the one who broke the news to Derek about his family. He was a nice man, but Derek didn't exactly have positive memories of him. He couldn't help but be surprised that he moonlighted as a chef. "Sheriff Stilinski?" he asked. Derek guessed that he was attractive for an older man, but—

"No!" Erica started cackling. "His son, Stiles."

Derek didn't remember anyone in school with the sheriff's last name, but he was interrupted from asking any other questions by a loud noise. At the front of the room, there was an overgrown teenager with closely cropped brown hair banging on a pot with a wooden spoon. Suddenly overwhelmed, he looked over his shoulder toward the door, debating if he could sneak out before class started. At that point it would have been worth it, even if he lost the seventy-five bucks he'd already paid for the class.

As if she knew he was gonna make a run for it, Erica placed her hand on his forearm, smiling a bit more genuinely at him. Narrowing his eyes, he was about to tell her to take her hands off him, but then the kid at the front of the room started talking.

"Hi everyone! I just demonstrated how you should definitely not treat your pots and pans! Unless, of course, you need the attention of a room full of ladies." His eyes met Derek's and a fiery blush stained his cheeks. "And gentlemen too, of course. No sexism here!" he said, gesturing wildly toward Derek.

If Derek hadn't been so embarrassed at being singled out as the only man taking the class, he would've felt bad for the kid. However, when thirteen pairs of eyes fell directly on him, he responded by glaring daggers instead.

"So, anyway. Welcome everyone! My name is Stiles, and I'll be your kitchen coach, chopping teacher and meal-making mentor for the day!"

The kid looked like he was in high school, wearing a graphic printed t-shirt that said 'stud' with a picture of a muffin below it. Reaching into the wooden table in front of him, he pulled out a chef's jacket and slipped it over his shoulders, buttoning up the front.

"There should be aprons at everyone's station. I'm sure you're jealous of my incredibly stylish chef's jacket, but please cover up before we start. I can't afford to replace any ruined silk blouses," he said, motioning toward Erica before looking at Derek. "Or even plain black t-shirts. Starving student, here, people. Well, maybe not starving, but you know what I mean." A ripple of laughter ran through the room and Derek couldn't have stopped his eye roll if he tried. Which he didn't.

"So, we'll start with a salad. You two," he pointed at Erica and Derek, "come on up to the front. Everyone else should have some olive oil, balsamic and dijon mustard in front of them. Nominate one of you to whisk while the other pours." He waited a beat and let the pairs sort themselves out. "Okay, start with two teaspoons of mustard." He opened his eyes widely at Derek, cocking his head toward the measuring spoons. Derek grabbed the jar of mustard and spooned a small amount into a glass bowl. "Next, add three tablespoons of balsamic vinegar and start whisking." Derek added the balsamic and Erica began expertly whisking the ingredients together. "Finally, start pouring the olive oil in slowly, about a third of a cup total, while continuing to whisk."

There wasn't a measuring cup for the oil, and Derek didn't understand how he was supposed to figure out how much a third of a cup was. Before he could ask, Stiles picked up the bottle, put it in Derek's hand and tipped it into the bowl. He tensed, positive he was going to screw up the simple task and add too much. Derek glanced up at Stiles for some direction, but he was busy staring out at the rest of the class encouragingly. "When do I stop?" he growled.

"Huh?" Derek widened his eyes and looked pointedly at the bottle of olive oil. "Oh! Yeah, that's probably enough. Let's give it a try." He dipped his spoon into the mixture and darted out his tongue to taste. "Perfect! You guys are salad dressing making geniuses! Grab a spoon and try it." Derek huffed as he picked up his own spoon. How good could it be when they didn't even know how much oil they put into the mix?

After a taste, Derek was forced to admit that it was really good. A small spark of pride bloomed in his chest, knowing that he helped make it.

"See? Good, right?" Stiles asked. Derek nodded. "Okay, I'm just going to mix this into some greens that I absolutely did not buy pre-cut in a giant bag from the grocery store and put it to the side so we can move along."

Heading back to his station, Derek breathed out a sigh of relief at no longer being the center of attention. Next they went through some knife skills, and Derek learned how to chop an onion without making a complete mess of it. He learned what it meant to blanch a vegetable—asparagus in their case—and that there was a difference between smashing potatoes and mashing them. And that smashing was easier.

Derek found himself enjoying the class, and most of that was due to Stiles' lighthearted approach to cooking. When they finally started on the steak, Stiles did most of the work, but was like a fountain of knowledge with his tips, like, "get the pan as hot as possible before adding olive oil," and, "let it finish cooking in the oven for a nice crust." Everything was delicious when they sampled it in the end and overall, it didn't seem too difficult. Derek even waved goodbye to Erica and thanked Stiles for the class as he left.

It was a big step for him.

On his way home, he passed by a kitchen supply store and decided to stop inside, confident with his newly attained skills. Stiles had said that a stainless steel pan would work best for the steaks, and Derek splurged, spending fifty bucks on a brand new one. He also swung by the grocery store and picked up some steaks to cook the following night, excited to start practicing. Laura was coming over for dinner, and he knew that it would make her happy that he enjoyed the class.

The following night, Derek prepped the meal and started working long before Laura showed up. The salad dressing turned out great, just like in class, but the potatoes weren't quite as good. Still, they weren't bad, and he could definitely work on that. He skipped the veggies, satisfied that the salad would be enough.

Derek had just finished setting the table when there was a knock at the door. With everything timed perfectly so far, he placed his new pan on the stove to heat before answering. Bypassing pleasantries, Laura walked right past him into the living room. "Okay, I want to hear all about the class. It sounded like you didn't have a completely horrible experience when we talked earlier."

Derek rolled his eyes. "It was fine. You remember Sheriff Stilinski?" Laura nodded. "His son taught the class."

"His son? Wasn't he a lot younger than us?"

"Probably." Derek snorted. "He didn't look old enough to teach when I first saw him, but he did a good job. I learned a lot."

"Is that so?" Laura asked and Derek schooled his features. He didn't compliment people often, and she was looking at him as if trying to figure something out. After a beat, she continued. "Well, I want to see what you learned. What are we having?"

Derek rubbed his hands together, excited to get started. "I'm about to put on the steaks. The trick is to mostly cook them in a pan, but finish them in the oven. Stiles said that it gives them a nice crust."

"Stiles? His name is Stiles Stilinski?" Laura asked with a smile in her voice. It sounded odd when she said it, but somehow the name just seemed to fit.

Ignoring her, Derek walked into the kitchen, where the pan had been heating. "The other trick is to get the pan as hot as possible before adding olive oil."

"Hmm. How long do you leave the pan on the stove for?" Laura asked.

Derek furrowed his brow. Stiles hadn't really gone into detail about that. "I don't remember it taking very long in class, so it's probably ready." Grabbing the oil that he had pre-measured, he poured it into the pan.

He was reaching across the counter for the steaks when the oil suddenly caught fire. Derek jumped back as flames rose out of the pan and he looked around the kitchen in a panic with no idea what to do.

Laura moved quickly, covering the pan and snuffing out the flames. "It's fine, Der," she said, softly, "the fire's out." Derek's heart raced. He was frozen in place until Laura lifted off the lid to show him and said, "See? It's okay."

It wasn't okay, though. There was a huge scorch mark across the bottom of Derek's brand new pan, he could have started a fucking kitchen fire, and worst of all, he had completely panicked. He had known that this was a terrible idea from the start and just proved it to himself.

Derek Hale had no business trying to learn how to cook.

Laura peered into the pan with a slight frown on her face and Derek wished that he had never invited her over to witness yet another failure. "It's not that bad," she said. "Let's just try again. The pan must've gotten a little too hot."

"No," Derek growled.

"Come on, Der—"

"I said no, Laura!" Derek took the pan and threw it into the sink, the metal clashing loudly in the otherwise silent room. He was throwing a tantrum, and knew it, but Derek wasn't sure if he would ever be ready to try again.

"Well, what about this other stuff?" she asked. "Salad and mashed potatoes? It looks pretty good."

"Smashed," he replied, under his breath.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing," Derek mumbled, defeated. "Yeah, go ahead and try it."

She made them each a plate and they ate in silence, sipping on some wine that Laura had brought for the occasion. When they finished, Derek showed her to the door, and she looked at him sadly. "Don't give up, baby bro. I think this is good for you. It seemed like you really enjoyed it."

Derek hummed a noncommittal noise as he gave her a quick hug goodbye.

There was no way in hell he was going back.


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is being a posted a little early because sonsofsilly did a super-speedy beta job on it - thanks, hon! Any mistakes from the final edit are mine, though, because I couldn't resist playing around once I got it back. Hope you guys enjoy!**

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The following week, Stiles randomly appeared in Derek's thoughts, annoying the crap out of him. At work he found his mind drifting back to that ridiculous, wide-mouthed cackle. During his workout he would see someone wearing a stupid T-shirt and immediately think stud muffin. When he was microwaving dinner, he could imagine Stiles' disapproving look over his shoulder.

Shaking the images from his head, Derek decided that a trip to Jungle—the mostly-gay-but-sort-of-mixed club—was in order. He needed to get a certain cooking teacher out of his system, and the best way to do that would be to find himself a cute, brown-haired boy to take home. It was a solid plan.

That weekend, Derek met Boyd and Isaac for a couple of drinks at their place before they made their way to the club. Derek had met them recently—old college roommates who ended up working at the same company as he did—but they quickly became two of the few people Derek actually considered friends in his life.

By the time they arrived at Jungle, the dance floor was already packed with pretty boys and girls grinding against each other, limbs loose with alcohol. The three of them headed directly to the bar, grabbing seats and ordering a round of drinks. Derek surveyed the crowd, looking for someone to scratch his Stiles shaped itch, but no one caught his eye. So, he kept talking with Boyd instead, mostly about work stuff, while Isaac wandered off to the dance floor.

After another round, Derek was overdue for a trip to the restroom. When he returned to the bar, he found his seat had been taken by a girl with long blonde hair. He was about to make himself scarce and possibly do another scan of the room when the girl flipped her hair over her shoulder and recognition punched him in the gut.

It was Erica, from class.

She caught his eye and waved him over to join them. Boyd looked less than enthusiastic at Derek's presence, especially when Erica threw her arms around his neck and squealed, "Derek!"

The corners of his lips curled into a sort of frown-smile hybrid that his sister referred to as a frile. "Hi Erica," he responded.

She turned back to Boyd. "Are you two friends?" she asked.

With a confused look on his face, Boyd answered, "Yeah. You guys know each other?"

"We met at the cooking class I took," Derek clarified, and Boyd let out a sigh of relief.

Erica's eyes sparkled with mischief. "So, is that special someone around here somewhere?" she asked.

Busted.

Boyd raised his eyebrows at Derek, who started stumbling through his answer. "Well, there's not really... I mean, I don't actually—"

"I'm just messing with you," she laughed. "I figured things out pretty quickly with the way you were eye-fucking Stilinski."

Derek glared at her. "I was not—"

"Anyway," she interrupted, "Boyd and I were just about to hit the dance floor. You coming?"

"I'm not really a—"

She grabbed him by the arm, just like she had done in class. "Trust me, I think you're going to enjoy this."

Boyd cleared his throat. "Come on, Derek. The lady wants to dance, so let's do this."

Erica smiled and Derek grumpily followed them into the sweaty mass of bodies. Derek was sure that she led them to the middle of the dance floor specifically to torture him. When they stopped, she looked at Derek to make sure she had his attention before cocking her head and gesturing over her shoulder with an evil smirk on her face.

Taking the bait, Derek looked and was shocked to see none other than Stiles on the dance floor, pressed up against some shirtless guy.

If anyone had asked, he would've assumed that Stiles was the sort of guy with uncoordinated limbs and annoyingly excessive energy on the dance floor, but he quickly learned that was not the case.

With his hand wrapped around the back of the guy's neck, Stiles' hips moved in a slow, seductive grind to the up-tempo music. The other guy's hands trailed down Stiles' chest and stomach before teasing at the hem of Stiles' T-shirt, flashing Derek a strip of pale skin. Stiles' eyes fell shut, and there was a hint of longing in his face as he licked his lips and linked fingers with his dance partner.

A wave of jealousy crashed over Derek. He probably looked creepy as hell staring at them like he was, but he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away. It was already bordering on awkward, and Derek was about to turn tail and head back to the bar when Stiles lazily opened his eyes and met Derek's gaze.

His eyes widened in surprise before he tentatively smiled in Derek's direction. Turning his head, he whispered something in his dance partner's ear before stepping away from him. The guy nodded, smiling as he was swallowed up by the crowd.

Stiles made his way toward Derek, stopping just in front of him. "Hey!" he yelled over the crowd. "Derek! Want to grab something to drink?" Stiles motioned to the bar. Derek nodded and followed Stiles as he pushed through the crowd, the thumping bass line rattling his brain. He breathed a sigh of relief when they finally broke free from the tangle of people; however, that feeling was quickly replaced by anxiety when he realized that he actually had to talk to Stiles now.

Derek wasn't good at talking.

Stiles was the first to speak. "I don't think I've seen you here before."

"I'm not really into dance clubs," Derek responded.

Stiles laughed. "I can see that. You looked like you were ready to murder everyone on the dance floor when I saw you."

Derek told himself that it had nothing to do with the way Stiles was dancing with that guy. "Your boyfriend's not gonna mind that you're hanging out with me?" he asked.

Stiles' brows crinkled in confusion. "My what? Oh, you mean Danny! Yeah, not my boyfriend."

If something unclenched a little in Derek's chest, he wasn't going to admit it. Beer?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Um, sure." Stiles waved his hands around. "Whatever you're having."

With bottles in hand, they sat at a booth farther away from all the noise. Stiles sprawled out across the deep red vinyl, his limbs taking up more room than strictly necessary for someone his size.

"So. Cooking, huh? What did you think of the class?" Stiles took a sip of his beer and looked expectantly at Derek, as if he were capable of responding to questions like a normal person.

Derek frowned. "I set a pan on fire."

Stiles choked, and it took a moment before he could speak again. "Excuse me?"

"You said to get the pan as hot as possible before adding oil."

Stiles paled at the words. "Oh, shit. Oh my god! Dude, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

Derek shrugged. "My sister helped put it out."

"This is good," Stiles mumbled to himself, rubbing his hands together. "Constructive criticism. Note number one, clarify smoke points and flash points." He turned his attention back to Derek. "What else? Anything else you did or didn't like?"

"I'm not much of a cook, so—"

"Oh, come on. There's got to be something else."

Derek paused for a moment, thinking about the class. "Um, the chopping was good. And the salad dressing. I made it at home and it was good."

"Awesome! That's a great start! Have you thought about taking the Basic Skills class?"

Derek shook his head. "Learned my lesson with that steak. Cooking is not for me."

Stiles looked determined. "What? No! Cooking's for everyone! Come on, give me another chance."

"You teach that series, too?" Derek asked.

"Yup! And I promise that I won't let you set another pan on fire. Cross my heart." Stiles traced his fingers over his chest in an X, and looked so hopeful that Derek found himself nodding. It was worth it when Stiles smiled, wide and open, and pumped his fist in the air. "Yes!" Draining the rest of his beer, Stiles hopped out of the booth and clapped his hand on Derek's back. "Classes start on Monday, so I'll see you then!"

~O~

Derek knew that he didn't really have to sign up for the class. He was an adult and he was allowed to change his mind about things. Stiles might be disappointed if he didn't show up, but Derek didn't think he would really care, considering how quickly he took off after his beer.

However, this was the fifth time he'd had the argument with himself in the last ten minutes, and could have sworn that the cursor hovering over the 'purchase class now' button was now mocking him.

There were some valid cons, though. The fact that he had agreed to go to the class after a few drinks was practically coercion. He hadn't even actually said yes to Stiles out loud, just nodded his head. What if he was just working out a kink in his neck and Stiles had misunderstood?

Derek let out a deep breath. He already knew he was going to sign up, so why was he torturing himself? Facing the computer head on, he reviewed the credit card information that he had typed into the form fifteen minutes earlier, and before he could stop himself again, he clicked the mouse.

Sure that he'd regret it in the morning, he dragged himself to bed.

Derek woke up with a strange feeling of excitement humming through his body. He'd have to leave for class directly from work, so he grabbed an extra shirt to change into. He was allowed to wear jeans at the office, but his boss frowned on the plain black T-shirts Derek preferred. Wearing a collared shirt was a small sacrifice for being mostly left alone to do his work, though. The day passed quickly, and before he knew it he was on his way to the school.

He had reviewed the agenda before finally signing up and knew that they would be starting with knife skills and sauces, so he was a little less concerned about setting something on fire.

Derek hung up his jacket on a hook near the door. When he spun around and surveyed the room, he spotted Stiles greeting people from up front and lifted his hand in a small wave.

Stiles didn't see him.

Embarrassed, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and glanced around for an empty space. Luckily, he had arrived early enough so that he wouldn't have to sit up front again. He was about to claim a spot near the back when a loud yell stopped him.

"Derek!" Stiles waved him forward. "Saved a spot for you, D!" He gestured to the empty table in front of him and Derek frowned. He couldn't avoid sitting up front now without making things awkward. "Whoa, Mr. Frowny Face. Not into nicknames, huh?" Derek rolled his eyes. "Fine, I can work with Derek. Front and center, man." He tapped the counter for emphasis.

The rest of the students trickled in, and Stiles introduced himself to everyone before asking who had taken his classes before. About half the students raised their hands. "The first part of this class will be a repeat of some things you have already heard from me, but then we'll go a little more in depth with certain concepts. First exercise..." Stiles dramatically pulled a knife from a block on the table and waved it around in a rather unsafe manner.

"Knife skills!"

Derek was looking forward to practicing a little more, and happily learned the difference between chopping, dicing, and mincing, before learning more advanced cuts, like julienne. After, they moved on to sauces and soups, and when Stiles walked around the room checking everyone's progress, he complimented both Derek's hollandaise and his wild mushroom soup. Derek preened under the approval.

By the time class was dismissed, Derek was glad that he had signed up, although he knew better than to be lulled into a false sense of security. If he wasn't careful when he practiced at home he could end up losing a digit.

The next Monday's class was on pizza and pastas, and Stiles, being the ridiculous person that he was, entered the room wearing a fake mustache. Derek couldn't help but chuckle as Stiles read out the evening's menu in a thick accent, finishing by yelling "Mangia!" and kissing his fingers. They started the class working on making pizza dough from scratch, and Derek found himself in such deep concentration while kneading the dough that he jumped a little when Stiles hummed from over his shoulder.

"This looks good," he said, and Derek shivered at the feeling of hot breath against his neck. "But let me show you an easier way to spread the dough." Stiles stepped around Derek and waved his long fingers in his face. "May I?" he asked. Derek nodded and Stiles dipped his fingers into the dough, using short quick presses to stretch it out. He was explaining something about how to stop air bubbles from forming in the dough, but frankly, Derek wasn't listening. Instead, he was mesmerized by Stiles' confident movements. He snapped out of his daze when Stiles asked, "Okay?" and nodded in agreement to whatever it was he had asked.

That night, Derek wolfed down some leftover takeout for dinner and headed to bed early. He couldn't sleep though, distracted by thoughts of Stiles. Objectively, he knew that Stiles was attractive, in a sort of flailingly charming way, but there was something else about him that Derek couldn't quite put his finger on.

Derek's only real relationship had left him pretty damaged, and since then, he'd been unwilling let anyone else in. Kate was an older woman he'd met just after his parents passed away. Still reeling from his loss, Derek loved the way she made him feel: alive and cared about. She was beautiful and charming, and seemed just a little bit dangerous. It was a heady combination, and Derek was sure that they'd be together forever.

What a fucking fool.

They met a year before his eighteenth birthday. Laura and Derek had moved from Beacon Hills to New York after the estate was settled, neither one of them wanting to stay and be surrounded by painful memories day in and day out. At the time, he didn't think it was strange to have met her in the school parking lot after baseball practice, but he knew now that she was nothing more than a predator who had done her homework. She told him everything he wanted to hear, hoping to get her hands on the insurance money he'd inherit once he turned eighteen. Money that he would gladly give up in a second if he could have his family back.

She was the main reason Derek had trouble opening up to people, let alone trusting anyone. He still burned with embarrassment when he remembered overhearing her on the phone, talking about how she couldn't wait to get rid of Derek, calling him a stupid kid.

She wasn't wrong, though; he clearly was stupid. He hadn't even confronted her, just quietly returned the engagement ring he'd bought to the jewelry store. When Laura found out what was happening, they promptly moved out of the city and Derek never spoke with Kate again. Several years later, they returned to Beacon Hills, and since then Derek had been content with his life.

Still, he hadn't had a real relationship since Kate, just a string of nameless fucks. It had always seemed to satisfy his needs, but now there was Stiles, with his kind, yet sarcastic personality, his overly expressive face, and so many other things that were the complete opposite of Derek. And no matter how closed off Derek acted toward him, Stiles just ignored it, chipping away at his hardened exterior with his sharp wit, patiently for Derek to give in.

He couldn't figure out what it was about this kid that crawled beneath his skin, but for the first time in his adult life, he wasn't sure if he was still content being alone.

Derek huffed. Dr. Morrell was going to have a field day with that realization.


	3. Chapter 3

**A big thank you to sonsofsilly for her beta work on this chapter!**

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"So why don't you tell me a little more about Stiles?" Dr. Morrell asked in her typical professional therapist voice.

Derek was surprised that she would mention his name. "Why?"

"You've mentioned him a few times today." Derek hadn't even realized it. "Mostly in the context of how ridiculous he is, but you seem to be rather fond of him." Dr. Morrell smiled. In the months he'd been coming to see her, he could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen her smile.

It was one of things he liked about her when they first met, that she didn't plaster on a fake smile to try to make him feel comfortable.

Derek pressed his palms to his knees and rubbed them up and down his thighs in a nervous gesture. "Uh, I guess."

"I'm not going to push you Derek, but I think it would help to open up a little about this."

"Umm." He hated this, the insecurity that came along with talking about his feelings. Derek took a deep breath before continuing. "He's ridiculous. He's hyper, and sarcastic, and he never shuts up."

"Go on."

"He was the one who convinced me to sign up for the Basic Skills class. I ran into him at a club and told him what happened with the pan. He looked horrified and said that he'd help me learn what to do so it didn't happen again. When I said that I'd sign up for his class, he looked… happy."

"Do you think it's been a long time since you've made someone happy?"

Derek snorted. He absolutely despised questions like this. "Probably anyone other than Laura."

"Have you thought about asking him to spend time with you outside of class?"

Derek froze. The only other time he saw Stiles outside of class spawned jerk-off material that kept Derek occupied for a week. Thankfully, Dr. Morrell ignored the blush creeping over his cheeks at the memory.

"Of course not. We barely even know each other."

"Really? From what you've told me, it sounds like he's made quite an effort to engage you. If nothing else, it seems like he wants to be your friend. There's nothing wrong with letting people care about you, Derek."

Their time was up, anyway, so Derek didn't respond.

~O~

The next class was fish, which became clear when Stiles announced, "There's no need to feel like a fish out of water when cooking fish!"

It was also the first time he'd be pan-searing again, and Derek had come to class ready to face his anxiety head-on. Stiles started with a thorough explanation on how to heat a pan to the correct temperature, including a simple way test the pan with water to make sure it wasn't too hot before adding the oil. It made him feel more comfortable, and Derek appreciated the instruction, even though he felt a little self-conscious that Stiles was putting in the extra effort for his benefit.

After his presentation, Stiles distributed salmon fillets to the class, and Derek couldn't help but stare at the orangey pink-ish fillet in front of him with disdain. He didn't even like fish, considering himself more of a meat and potatoes kind of guy, and was convinced that the fishy smell was never going to wash off his hands.

He was pleased to find that Stiles' water trick worked, and managed to add the olive oil without causing a fire, which was a relief. Then he added the fish and waited for it to become opaque.

Whatever that meant.

Derek eyed that fish like a hawk, watching as the change in color slowly traveled up the sides of the fillet. Worried that he might undercook it and make someone sick, he took his time and let the entire fish turn opaque before slipping the spatula underneath to flip it.

The fish stuck a bit, and Derek noticed that other people were already taking their salmon out of the pans. He quickly flipped the fillet, and was confronted with a layer of black, charred salmon skin. Immediately he flung his hand into the air and scanned the room for Stiles, who was obliviously chatting away with another student. Derek hoped that the weight of his glare would be enough to make Stiles turn around, praying it would happen before the fish in his pan became completely inedible.

Finally Derek growled out Stiles' name and he looked over, eyes widening at the tone of Derek's voice and probably the murderous look on his face as well. Whispering something to the woman he had been speaking to, he made his way over to Derek's table and peered inside the pan.

He clapped Derek on the back. "Hey, don't worry about it, man! I've got an extra piece of fish with your name on it." He kept talking as he walked to his workstation, motioning for Derek to follow him. "Not a lot of people start out comfortable with fish, and I'll tell you a secret." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "A bunch of these people took my Succulent Seafood course. Trust me, you're not the first person to burn a piece of fish. You see Mrs. Johnson over there? What she did to her poor unsuspecting fillet was inhuman. Yours just ended up a little on the dry side, so I'd like you try again, okay?"

Derek huffed, but nodded his assent anyway. "I don't know how opaque is opaque enough to flip," he said.

"It's actually fine to take the fish off a little early, because it's gonna keep cooking, even off the flame." He handed Derek the olive oil and turned on his burner. "Have at it, buddy, and I'll walk you through the process."

Derek took a deep breath and started to pour the oil in the pan, but Stiles stopped him. "Just another sec, okay? We're waiting for the pan to lightly smoke before adding the oil." Stiles kept his hand on Derek's until it was time to pour, distracting him from his nerves.

"Okay, now the fish. Skin side down." Derek did as he was told, and they waited in silence as it cooked. His body hummed, all too aware of Stiles' proximity, as he awaited further instruction. "Watch the fish lose its transparency along the side. You want to cook for two to three minutes, or until that color reaches about halfway. Okay, now flip." Derek slid his spatula under the fish and turned it over, a nice caramel color covering the top of the fillet.

"Gorgeous!" Stiles exclaimed. "It's okay to poke at it a little, too. As the fish cooks, the texture changes from mushy, which, _ew_, to firm. You can even separate the fillet along the seam right here and take a look in the middle if you're worried about it being undercooked. Trust me, once you've got it on the plate you just push the sides together and no one will even notice. Go ahead and take it out when you think it's ready."

Derek gave the fish another moment to cook before scooping it out and laying it on a plate.

"Awesome. Now, let it sit for a minute, and then we'll taste. I'll be back in a sec." Stiles ran off to finish checking on the other students, and Derek realized that he'd dropped everything to help him through his fish fiasco.

Warmth flooded his chest, and he waited another moment before taking a bite of the fish.

It was delicious, and Derek didn't even like fish, so that was saying a lot. "Thanks, Stiles," he whispered.

~O~

Over the next few weeks, Derek thought about Stiles, really thought about him and what a relationship with Stiles would be like. He thought about date nights and couch make outs, arguing over television shows and Stiles getting exasperated when Derek pretended not to understand the finer points of Game of Thrones. He thought about how much commotion that one-hundred and fifty pounds of pale skin and fragile bones could bring into his life, and he wondered if he really wanted it.

It didn't take long for him to come to his conclusion. That was the easy part. The hard part was figuring out if Stiles could want the same thing. Derek was fully aware that he came with a monumental amount of baggage and couldn't imagine anyone wanting to take that on.

People thought that things were easy for Derek because of the way he looked, and that the reason he acted like a dick all the time was because he thought he was better than everyone else, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. Sure, it was never hard to find a willing body to fuck, but Derek never brought them home and he never spent the night with them. Dr. Morrell called it a trust issue, but that was the understatement of the year.

He was also terrible with words, and had no idea how he was going to actually talk to Stiles. If they were at a bar, he could use one of his signature moves—buy someone a drink and flash them a smile—but this was Stiles, who drew Derek in with his open encouragement and wasn't turned off by his standoffishness. Who always seemed to know the right thing to say to put Derek at ease.

Derek knew that he couldn't let the opportunity pass him by. He'd never forgive himself if he didn't at least try.

~O~

Derek waited for the last class of the series, which was his self-imposed deadline to talk to Stiles. He felt like an idiot walking into the room, overly conscious of every move that he made and sure that Stiles wouldn't be interested in what he had to say anyway.

The course was baking themed, and they started off the evening making delicious breads as well as a chocolate torte. Eventually, Derek was mixing the ingredients for scones, the very last dish he was going to make in the Basic Skills series. As he began folding blueberries into the mix, Derek could see Stiles starting to make his way around the room out of the corner of his eye, chatting with students.

His stomach twisted with nerves, because he knew that this was it. This was his chance.

He was cutting the dough into triangles when Stiles reached him, and was glad for an excuse not to have to make eye contact. Derek's heart skipped when Stiles place a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it lightly before speaking. "Can you believe this is it? You, my friend, have made exceptional progress. Nice work, Double-O Derek!"

Derek looked up from his scones and raised an eyebrow at Stiles.

"What? 'Cause you're so mysterious!" Derek raised his other brow to meet the first. "All right, fine, that didn't really roll of the tongue. Anyway, like I was saying—"

"Stiles."

Stiles' hand stopped mid-gesture and awkwardly hung in the air. "Um, yeah?" he asked, sounding hesitant. It was rare that Derek interrupted him.

"Do you want to grab dinner with me sometime?"

"What, like a date or something?" Stiles responded, with a hint of laughter in his tone. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Derek nodded. The smile slipped off Stiles' face and he lowered his voice, leaning in toward Derek. "Oh my god, dude," he started, and Derek's heart fell. Stiles' voice was just oozing rejection and Derek couldn't deal with it.

"Never mind," he bit out, saving Stiles from making the situation any more horrifyingly awkward than it already was.

Stiles jerked back like a puppy spritzed in the face with a water bottle. "Wait, what?"

Derek's face burned with embarrassment, and he turned his focus back to the scones. "You're not interested, so never mind," he growled. Thankfully, it would only be another torturous half hour before Derek could sneak away and lick his wounds in private.

Stiles furrowed his brow. "Hold on just a second there, buddy." He placed his hand over Derek's to stop his movements and waited until Derek looked him in the eye. "Let me finish. I was going to say, 'Oh my god, dude, you finally picked up on the Stilinski signals that I've been putting out.' I mean, they were so strong that aliens have been calling me and asking for a date. I thought I was going to have to add an extra class with only one available opening, with me being the only thing on the menu."

Derek couldn't help but chuckle.

"Seriously Derek, did you even notice me winking directly at you when I talked about making a chocolate torte for your significant other?"

"I thought you had gotten some flour in your eye."

Stiles looked at him, slack-jawed. "I'm pretty sure I should be offended by that."

"I didn't mean—"

"I know, Derek," he said, face softening. "And for the record, yes I would like to have dinner with you." He grabbed a pen and a piece of paper out of his chef's jacket and wrote down his number. "Call me, okay?" Derek's lips pulled into a small smile. "Now, I'd better get moving before the rest of the class gets jealous that I'm spending too much class time with my favorite pupil," he said, waggling his eyebrows before turning away to the next student.

Derek finished arranging his scones and tossed them in the oven, setting the timer for twenty minutes. He helped himself to some well-deserved wine and rosemary focaccia bread fresh from the oven. Anxiety filtered out of his body as he sipped from the glass, leaving an exhausted sort of relief in its wake.

When the scones were finished, he pulled them from the oven, keeping his eyes on Stiles as he made his way through the room. Derek wondered if relationships were always this exhausting, but then Stiles caught his eye and waved from across the room and Derek fought down a blush. He didn't know what was going to happen next, but for the first time in a while, Derek felt the long absent tug of optimism in his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter! Work was crazy, editing took forever, blah, blah, blah. sonsofsilly, on the other hand was super quick, as usual, with the beta. Enjoy!**

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Derek was elbow deep in gnocchi he couldn't serve to Stiles, panicking because it was way too dense to be remotely palatable. Tasting the stupid potato pasta and finding that the first terrible piece he tried wasn't a fluke, he attempted to incinerate the whole batch by the intensity of his glare alone.

Telling Stiles that he could cook for him was a horrible, horrible idea.

At the very least he should've gone with something he was more familiar with, maybe something from class, but then he pulled out one of his mom's old cookbooks and couldn't help himself. Derek's mom used to say that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach, and he remembered that on special occasions she would make gnocchi for Derek's dad, so he thought he would give it a shot.

In retrospect, it was not a good plan. He had no idea those little fuckers were so hard to make. With only an hour before Stiles was due to arrive, Derek chucked the bowl of pasta into the trash and searched desperately for a takeout menu.

Following a quick shower, Derek found himself pacing the apartment, anxiously waiting for the food to arrive. He briefly considered trying to pass off the professional Italian meal as his own, but nixed that idea pretty quickly. Knowing Stiles, he would ask way too many questions that Derek wouldn't be able to answer about spices or cooking methods.

Once it arrived, Derek placed the food in the oven to keep warm and uncorked a bottle of wine. If he poured himself a small glass and took a few large gulps to calm his nerves, no one needed to know.

The doorbell rang at eight sharp, and Derek opened the door to find Stiles wearing one of his signature T-shirts and chewing on his lower lip nervously. "Zombies hate fast food, huh?" Derek said, gesturing to the graphic design on Stiles' chest.

"You know it!" Stiles exclaimed, his mouth splitting into a grin.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked, pushing the door to his loft open wider and catching the faint whiff of something woodsy, with a hint of amber, as Stiles breezed past.

"Whatever you're having is fine," Stiles responded, eyes taking in his surroundings. Derek's apartment was sparse, but he preferred it that way, never having being one to accumulate a lot of physical possessions. He had first-hand experience with just how little those things mattered.

Walking into the kitchen, Derek poured Stiles a glass of wine, his nerves starting to calm as the alcohol hit his system. "It smells delicious in here," Stiles said, sniffing his way toward the kitchen. "What's for dinner, Chef Derek?"

Derek frowned. "Take-out." Stiles raised his eyebrows in question. "I tried to make something, but it didn't work out."

Instead of poking fun at him, like Derek thought he would, Stiles just asked, "Really? What did you try?"

He practically growled out the word, "gnocchi," as if the pasta had personally attacked him.

Stiles smiled widely. "That's pretty ambitious. My gnocchi sucks ass. You will never see that evil dish on my syllabus."

Derek snickered. "My mom used to make it for my dad all the time. I had no idea it was so hard."

"So, what happened?"

"It turned out really dense. Like a rock."

Stiles' eyes widened. "Dude! The same thing happens with mine! Maybe someday I'll figure it out, but for now, I eat my gnocchi at restaurants."

Derek pulled the food out of the oven, and Stiles helped carry it all to the table. He thought it might be awkward, being completely alone with Stiles for the first time, but as soon as they sat down, Stiles started telling stories about ridiculous things he'd seen in his class and Derek found himself laughing along. Apparently, Derek was not the most hopeless student Stiles had ever tried to teach.

"There have been a lot of teaspoon and tablespoon mix-ups, which can be especially lethal if it's salt, but I worry a lot more about people getting injured with hot pots and pans. Luckily, I've avoided anything too major, but I did have a woman drop a pot of boiling water once in the middle of the room. That was scary."

They sipped on wine throughout the meal, and by the time they finished the very last meatball, which they split, they had polished off the bottle, leaving Derek feeling warm and loose.

Stiles rubbed his belly dramatically. "I'm stuffed," he announced.

Derek smiled at him as he stood up to clear the table. "Yeah. I guess we can wait a little before having dessert," he said. Derek had done a taste test earlier and knew that at least that had turned out well.

Stiles perked up visibly. "Wait, did you say dessert? There's always room for dessert. What are we having?"

Derek went into the kitchen and grabbed the casserole dish that he'd prepared earlier that day. "This is something I actually did make."

Following him, Stiles peered over his shoulder. "Bread pudding?" he asked. Derek nodded. "That looks amazing."

"It's uh, actually made with donuts," Derek admitted.

"Donuts?! That's the most brilliant thing I've ever heard! Why have I never thought of that?"

Turning around to pull some vanilla ice cream from the freezer, Derek found himself nose-to-nose with Stiles. "Sorry!" Stiles said, moving to take a step back, but Derek stopped him with a hand on around his waist.

"Wait." Feeling brave, Derek drew Stiles closer. Stiles licked his lips and looked up at Derek, his warm amber eyes widening slightly, and Derek leaned forward.

Stiles' eyes fluttered closed as Derek softly brushed their lips together, tentative until Stiles wound his arms around Derek's neck, sucking Derek's bottom lip between his own. His mouth was gentle but sure, tongue flicking out to tease Derek's lips.

Derek parted his lips and Stiles slid his tongue into Derek's mouth with a soft moan. Letting his hands drift down, Derek pulled their hips together and was rewarded with a gasp before the kiss turned heated and desperate. It felt so good, being completely wrapped up in Stiles, and Derek couldn't remember it ever being like this. Not with Kate, and definitely not with any of the nameless fucks throughout the years.

It scared him a little, that he'd allowed himself feel so vulnerable around this man that he barely knew.

Derek broke the kiss and took a deep breath to clear his head. Tucking his face into Derek's neck, Stiles let out a contented sigh and Derek felt his lips pull into a smile against his skin.

"That's probably tastier than the bread pudding," he stated. He looked up, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly glazed, and Derek couldn't help but place a soft peck on Stiles' kiss swollen lips.

"You haven't even tried it yet. Go have a seat on the couch, and I'll bring everything out."

Stiles smirked as he stepped back with a wiggle in his hips. "I'm too distracting for you, huh? It happens. Not everyone is ready for this jelly. By the way, that was totally a donut joke."

Derek rolled his eyes and lightly smacked him on the ass as he left the kitchen. He took his time dishing out the dessert, trying to get his heart rate back under control. Stiles wasn't wrong about being distracting.

A moment later, he brought two plates into the living room and deposited them on the coffee table. The plates barely hit the table before Stiles picked one up and dove into the dessert. He moaned pornographically on the first bite, and Derek leaned back into the coach, proudly watching him devour his plate.

"You're right," Stiles mumbled, licking the fork obscenely. "This is totally better than making out with you in the kitchen."

"Hey!" Derek said, offended.

"Seriously, it's like an explosion of sweet, sweet deliciousness in my mouth."

"Is that a technical term?" Derek asked, taking a bite from his own plate.

"Yup. You can look it up on any foodie blog." He took another bite, moaning again. "How did you find this recipe?" he asked.

Derek set his plate down on the table. "My grandmother used to make it for my birthday." Stiles looked up at him, curious. He somehow knew that Stiles wouldn't push him for more information, but would listen if he wanted to elaborate. "She, uh, passed away not long before my parents did."

Stiles rested his hand on Derek's knee and squeezed. " She must've been an awesome lady to invent something like this."

Derek smiled, remembering his mother and grandmother dancing around each other in the kitchen, working together to create delicious Sunday meals for the family.

"Yeah, she was. She and my mom used to cook together at least once a week. It's one of the reasons I decided to take your class, actually. I thought that my sister and I could try to continue the tradition. Unfortunately, she's even more hopeless than I am in the kitchen."

"Hey! You're not hopeless! And just to prove it, I'm going to expect a full culinary demonstration sometime soon."

"A little confident, huh?"

Tucked into the corner of the couch, Stiles burrowed into Derek, resting his head on his chest. "Hey, you've managed to put up with me this long."

Derek chuckled and wrapped his arm around Stiles. He couldn't remember the last time he had smiled so much in one evening. With a full belly and Stiles' warm weight pressed against him, he said, "You know, when I came to that first class, the steak one, Erica called it a vagina-fest."

A laugh punched from Stiles' chest.

"And then she said that Stilinski was teaching the class, so at least there'd be a little eye candy."

"Oh my God." Stiles turned to hide face, embarrassed.

"I thought she meant your dad."

Breaking out in peals of laughter, Stiles was barely able to catch his breath before speaking. "Yeah, no. My dad's specialty is ordering from a drive through. Which he is definitely not allowed to do, except maybe on a special occasion."

"Poor guy."

"Well, he's got high cholesterol and a taste for greasy burgers, so someone's got to keep him in check. That's why I learned how to cook. Took some classes because I wanted to make healthy meals for us after my mom died."

"I remember your mom," Derek said quietly. Stiles froze in his arms and Derek could've kicked himself for making him uncomfortable.

After a brief pause, Stiles said, "Yeah?" prompting Derek to continue.

"My sister and I used to give her so much trouble at the library after school, I can't even count how many times she yelled at us." He smiled fondly at the memory. "She was cool, though. Gave me the first Harry Potter book to read."

Stiles sat up at that. "Really? Those were my favorite. She gave me the first set of books when I turned eleven."

Derek groaned. "And now I feel old. I think I was sixteen when the third book came out?"

"So that makes you twenty-eight?" Derek nodded and Stiles patted him on the shoulder. "That's okay, old man. I'll try to take it easy on you, if you know what I'm saying." Stiles waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Frowning, Derek responded. "I don't know what you mean."

Stiles looked affronted. "Oh, come on! I'm talking about make-out action. You know you want some more of the Stilinski skills. I don't blame you, really."

Derek quickly spun across Stiles, settling his knees on either side of Stiles' lap and pinning him on the couch. Leaning down until their lips were almost touching, he asked, "Stilinski skills, huh? What do those entail?"

Stiles eyes twinkled with mischief. "Why don't you let my hands go, and I'll show you?" Derek relaxed his grip and Stiles curled his arms around Derek's waist, pulling their bodies flush against each other. "That's better. Now, let the making out commence!"

Derek rolled his eyes at Stiles, but closed the short distance between their lips anyway. With blunt fingernails carding through Derek's hair, Stiles kissed him thoroughly, and Derek wanted to feel skin underneath his fingers, rather than the cotton of Stiles' ridiculous T-shirt. He fingered the hem, letting his finger drag along the soft skin of Stiles' waist.

Stiles jumped at the movement. "Warn a guy next time, huh?!"

Derek smirked as he lightly tickled Stiles and watched him squirm. "Fine. Consider this a warning that I'm going to take off your shirt now." He pulled at the offending article of clothing, but it got caught up in the long sleeve shirt underneath. "Jesus, how many shirts are you wearing?" Derek growled, untangling the mess and dragging the shirts up and over Stiles' head.

"You, too," Stiles grunted, and stripped Derek of his shirt, tossing it over his shoulder.

Pulling him close again, Derek let his hands roam over Stiles' warm skin while Stiles tucked his face into Derek's neck, tongue running over the scruff he hadn't bothered to shave. Derek moaned as Stiles lightly sucked and nipped at his throat.

Gripping Derek's hips in his hands, Stiles began to rock his hips against him, searching for much needed friction. "Fuck, Derek. I have a recommendation to make."

"Hmm?" Derek groaned. He found it hard to speak with Stiles nibbling at his earlobe.

"I'm thinking we could both benefit from being a little more horizontal right now."

Rather than answering, Derek stood up and reached his hand out to Stiles, not wanting to break the contact between them for too long. When they reached his bedroom, Derek guided Stiles down onto the mattress before crawling onto the bed and settling between his legs.

"Much better," Stiles said, scratching his fingernails down Derek's back. Chills ran over his body, and his hips shifted forward in response, meeting Stiles' hard cock. "Much, much better."

Reaching between them, Derek unbuttoned Stiles' pants. "How about this?" he asked.

"Oh, man, I like your proactive-ness. Proactivity? Proaction?"Stiles snorted. "Heh, I'm definitely pro-action. Not to mention, a pro at action." Derek couldn't help but snicker along with Stiles. "Okay, let's definitely do this in a more naked way." Rolling them onto their sides, Stiles' shimmied out of his pants and boxers unceremoniously before lying on his back again. Turning his head toward Derek, he gestured abstractly toward the bottom half of Derek's body, "Uh, this only works if you take off your clothes, too."

The room was dark except for the moonlight filtering in through the window, and Derek took his time to look his fill at Stiles' naked body as he stood up. His pale skin was dotted with a roadmap of moles that led down to his hard cock, jutting proudly from tightly trimmed curls. Flushing under Derek's intense gaze, Stiles waved his hand around for Derek to hurry up.

Standing up, Derek pulled his jeans and boxer briefs down in one swoop and stepped out of them, leaving his clothes pooled on the floor. He sat back on the bed and raked his eyes over Stiles' lightly muscled body again before leaning down for a soft kiss. Derek began to kiss his way down Stiles' body, starting from his neck.

As Derek licked over each one of his nipples, Stiles huffed out his name impatiently. Encouraged by Stiles' frustrated whimpers, Derek trailed open-mouthed kisses across his stomach before licking down the patch of hair leading to his cock.

A loud moan caused Derek to look up and find Stiles' eyes trained on him, his hands fisted into the blanket. With their eyes locked, Derek licked a stripe up Stiles' length and took the head into his mouth. Breathing out a long exhale, Stiles whispered, "Fuck." Derek slowly sucked up and down, teasing him for a moment before speeding up his movements.

Stiles was nothing like Derek had expected. Rather than the loud screams and filthy words Derek had pictured during his fantasies, Stiles was all soft gasps of pleasure that turned into choked-off moans when Derek began to move his hand in time with his mouth.

Releasing the blanket from his fingers, Stiles scratched his fingers against Derek's scalp as his hips thrust cautiously into Derek's mouth. Watching Stiles' reactions to Derek's touch was so much sexier than anything his own imagination had supplied, and Derek was anxious to feel him to fall apart under his hands.

"Fu— Derek, I'm close," he panted and Derek pulled off just in time to watch Stiles' face as he came, mouth parted in a silent cry of pleasure.

Sliding back up the bed, Derek collapsed next to Stiles and pressed a kiss to his lips.

"Stop looking so smug," Stiles said, reaching over the edge of the bed for his boxers and wiping the come from his body. "I'm pretty sure that happened so quickly because fantasy-you isn't nearly talented at blowjobs as real-life-you." Derek raised an eyebrow. "Okay, fine, you can totally look smug. Nice work, buddy." Throwing his hand up in the air, Stiles gave him a thumbs up.

Reaching up, Derek grabbed his hand and pressed the heel of it against his half-hard cock. "I can think of something better you can do with that hand," he said. He was already on edge from watching Stiles come.

Stiles smirked. "Yes sir. I'm gonna need a closer look at the machinery I'm dealing with, though. Why don't you lie back and let me take over from here?" Stretching his body long, Derek relaxed into the pillows as Stiles shuffled down his body and started licking at Derek's balls.

It felt amazing, and when Derek moaned loudly he could practocally feel the smile pressed against his skin in return. When Stiles finally took Derek's cock into his mouth, he learned just how wicked that tongue could be.

Stiles alternated between flicking at the sensitive skin under the head and humming and slurping messily before taking him so deep that Derek's cock hit the back of his throat. It wasn't long before he was tapping Stiles on the shoulder, giving him the universal signal for, 'Oh shit, move fast!'

Pleasure wound deep in his gut as Stiles jerked him off, his toes curling hard as he came. Grabbing Stiles' boxers to clean up, Derek tossed them in the corner and gathered a warm and pliant Stiles into his arms. He was half asleep when he felt Stiles start to shift away.

Softly, Stiles whispered, "I should probably—"

Derek cut him off with a grunt and kissed him quiet instead. He wasn't ready for Stiles to leave.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Stiles," Derek whined. "How am I supposed to sleep with all this yapping?"

That earned him a bite on his shoulder. "Yapping?"

"Sleep, Stiles." The tension drained out of Stiles' body and eventually Derek was lulled to sleep by his steady breaths.

~O~

The next morning, Derek woke up tangled in the blanket with Stiles draped half over his body. Stiles was like a furnace on top of him and it was too hot for Derek to be comfortable, but he didn't move. He couldn't remember the last time he woke up with someone he wasn't anxious to get away from, and it felt nice.

Derek faded in and out of sleep for the next hour until Stiles snuffled awake. "No breakfast in bed?" he asked, voice rough with sleep.

Derek snorted. "How about some breakfast sausage," he asked, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice.

Stiles barked out a laugh and reached under the covers, grasping Derek's morning wood. "Oh my god, that was soooo cheesy. As delicious as your sausage sounds though, I think I need more than just protein."

Derek thought about what food he might have in his fridge, but came up with nothing. Leftovers from the night before wouldn't work, except maybe...

"How about some donut bread pudding?"

Stiles looked scandalized. "With or without ice cream?"

"Without?" Derek said, not sure of the correct answer. Stiles' face fell. "Or with. It's got calcium, right?"

"Yes, absolutely. But you have to promise never to speak of this to my dad. He'll disown me for consorting with the enemy. The enemy being sugar, of course. Not you."

Derek couldn't help but play along. "Sure. We can't have you sent off to the big house for this. It'll be our little secret."

"That was somehow pervy and hot all at the same time. Nice work."

If Derek pinned him to the bed and punished him with a wicked case of beard burn, no one could prove it. And if he discreetly snapped a couple of incriminating photos of Stiles enjoying Grandma Hale's famous bread pudding with extra ice cream on his phone to use as blackmail, well, that was just foresight.

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**Only the epi left!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Oh man - major update fail! When I said earlier that this whole story was written, I may have lied... everything was written except the epilogue. Sorry about that, and I hope you guys enjoy the update! A huge thank you to sonsofsilly for all of her beta work on this sucker!  
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_Four months later_

"Oven door open, behind you!"

Derek expertly dodged the obstacle, stepping out of the way as Stiles slipped the lasagna back in the oven to melt a final layer of cheese on top. There was a loud racket coming from the living room, and Derek was afraid they'd have a mutiny on their hands if they didn't serve dinner soon.

Once the timer was set, Stiles stepped out of the kitchen to check on their guests, returning with an update a few minutes later.

"Everyone's wine glass has been refilled. We've still got a few stuffed mushroom caps and some bruschetta on the coffee table. The caprese skewers and mini meatballs have been decimated. I swear to God, it's like we're feeding pack of wolves out there."

Derek laughed as he finished mixing the salad dressing. "It's a good thing that we got to taste everything before they got here, then."

Stiles snuck up next to him and dipped his finger into the bowl before Derek could swat his hand away. "What?" he asked innocently, sticking the finger into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks around it. "I'm just making sure your skills are up to par. Which they totally are, by the way."

Derek put down the mixing bowl and pretended to be annoyed while grabbing the lettuce from the fridge. "Why don't you go and entertain our guests while I finish this up, and I'll let you know when the oven beeps?"

"Nice try, buddy! Erica and your sister are getting along way too well right now, and I wouldn't go near them with a ten-and-a -half foot pole. Even Boyd looks a little shell-shocked."

It was the first time that everyone had come over to Derek's place for a homemade meal, and Derek was beginning to regret letting Stiles convince him to throw a 'real adult dinner party.'

Derek tried another tactic. "You're okay leaving your Dad out there with them?"

"At least he carries a gun."

"What?" Derek paled. "All the time?"

"Yes," Stiles hissed. "Why do you think I never had any dates in high school?"

"'Cause you were a nerd?"

Stiles huffed. "You're the one who wanted me to keep my glasses on when sucking your cock last night."

Derek's eyes darted around the room nervously. "You realize that we were just talking about your Dad, who is the Sheriff, in my living room, possibly carrying a gun? Not the best time to be talking about cocks, or the sucking of them."

Stiles walked up to Derek, plastering himself against his back, and Derek could practically feel the evil smirk pressed against the back of his neck. He wrapped his arms around Derek's waist and let a hand drift lower, gently rubbing over Derek's cock.

"Stiles!" Derek hissed. "What the hell are you doing?".

"Just trying to relax you a little. You seem a little stiff."

"This obviously isn't helping." Derek swatted his hands away. "You're a menace."

Stiles huffed out a laugh against his neck, but stepped back and gave Derek some room. "Fine. I'll get everyone to the table." He heard Stiles make his announcement, which resulted in what sounded like a stampede. Smiling to himself, he carried out the salad and gestured to Stiles to help with the rest of the food.

Once everyone and everything was settled, Stiles announced, "Dinner is served!" Commotion ensued, with plates clattering and utensils flying.

"Hold on a sec!" Hands froze in mid-air and everyone turned to look at the Sheriff. "I just wanna say thanks to Derek and my son for inviting us for dinner. It looks great. You two make a pretty good team."

Derek blushed and Stiles grinned at him from across the table, waggling his eyebrows. "You hear that, Derek? What do you think of Team Halinski? Has a nice ring."

Erica snickered. "I think Team Stale might be a little more appropriate."

Stiles' mouth dropped open, offended, but before he could say anything the Sheriff interrupted. "Okay kids, play nice. And someone hand me that lasagna."

"Start with the salad, Dad!" The sheriff frowned and looked to Derek for help, who answered with a shrug. However, he brightened a little when Derek snuck an extra piece of garlic bread onto his plate, which resulted in a glare from Stiles.

Things were silent for a moment while everyone dug in to their meals, and Derek took that time to reflect on how much things had changed in the last few months. Before taking that cooking class, he would've been home alone, maybe eating a pizza that he would finish up for breakfast. Instead, he was sitting at a crowded dinner table, enjoying a meal that he helped create.

Laura's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Hey, Der-bear, hand me a piece of bread."

The glare that Derek aimed in her direction was epic, but she was too busy continuing her chat with Erica to notice.

Stiles, on the other hand, choked on a piece of lettuce before clearing his throat. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" he asked, looking as if he might explode trying to contain his glee.

"Huh? Oh, that's what I used to call Derek when we were kids."

Stiles looked back at Derek with a twinkle in his eye. "Really? How did he get that nickname?"

"Laura," Derek warned with a growl.

She kept talking as if she didn't notice. Laura was a horrible person.

"He got this stuffed bear for Christmas when he was about five, and was so attached to it he took it everywhere."

Stiles sounded positively giddy when he asked, "Did this bear have a name?" Derek turned his glare on Stiles, but apparently several months of seeing it regularly had made him immune.

"Yup. He was named Theodore S. Bear. The 'S' stood for Snuggle, I believe?" A round of snickers erupted around the table.

"Laura, that's enough."

"But he was more popularly known as Mr. Bear."

"Laura!" Derek tossed down his fork. He turned toward Stiles. "The 'S' was just an initial. It didn't actually stand for anything." Realizing he was digging himself a deeper hole, he stood up from the table and started gathering dishes, spinning on his heel and heading toward the kitchen.

"Sorry, Derek!" Laura called after him, not sounding sorry at all.

As he dropped the dishes into the sink, he heard footsteps behind him. "I'm sorry, babe," Stiles said, wrapping his arms around Derek's waist and resting his chin on Derek's shoulder. "I gotta admit, though, the thought of a little Derek Hale walking around snuggling Mr. Bear is the most adorable thing I could imagine."

Stiles squeezed Derek tightly around the middle before letting go. "Now, don't make me go back out there alone. My dad will give me a disappoint look. Isaac and Boyd will silently judge me. Laura will not-so-silently judge me, and Erica might eat me alive is she's not full from dinner." Derek snorted and Stiles placed a soft kiss on his cheek. "Love you, Der-bear," he said before unwinding his arms.

Derek found that he didn't really mind the nickname so much when Stiles said it, his voice warm and fond, and he flushed at the term of endearment. He hadn't had the courage to say it back yet, but Stiles understood, and didn't shy away from saying it whenever he pleased.

However, he still swatted at Stiles' bum in retaliation, who yipped and tried to leap out his reach. Derek grabbed his hand before he got too far away, though, and they walked back into the dining room together.

~O~

When the door slammed shut behind the last guests, Derek leaned his back against it and let out a deep breath.

"Never again," Stiles yelled from the kitchen. "I mean, the way Isaac and Boyd turned on us toward the end of the night was downright unfair."

"I don't think Boyd had much of a choice in the matter, unless he wanted to Erica to withhold sex from him for the rest of the week," Derek said as he walked back through the living room and into the kitchen.

"What?!"

Derek huffed as he fitted his body against Stiles' back. "I don't know why she tells me these things. It's not like I want to know."

Stiles wiggled his hips against Derek. "There's just something about you that screams good listener," he said, turning off the tap.

Derek couldn't help but grind against him a little and his cock began to take interest. Trailing his fingers up Stiles' sides, he said, "Leave the dishes. I'll finish them later."

Stiles spun around with a smirk on his face. "I knew leaving that lasagna dish for last was a good idea," he said, whipping his shirt off before Derek complained.

Not that he would've.

He stepped back, pulling Stiles with him toward the bedroom while Stiles dragged Derek's shirt over his head. As soon as they reached the bedroom Derek pressed him against the wall, tangling their fingers together.

Tucking his face into Stiles' neck, Derek scratched his scruff along the pale skin before pressing his lips there to soothe the burn. He followed with small nibbles along his shoulder, knowing that his sensitive skin would bloom pink at each spot he sucked.

It was one of Derek's favorite things that he had learned about Stiles' body over the last few months.

"I swear to God, Derek, if I have to relive the Great Hickey Embarrassment of April, I'm gonna be pissed." Derek knew that he didn't really mean it by the way he stretched his neck long to give Derek better access.

Shaking his hands from Derek's grip, Stiles rested them on the waist of Derek's jeans for a moment before tracing his fingertips over the button and pulling it open. "These need to come off," he grunted, sliding the zipper and pushing the jeans down over Derek's hips.

Derek stepped out of his pants while Stiles popped the button of his own jeans, pulling them off with his boxers and leaving them together in a pile on the floor. He pushed Derek over to the bed and sat down with Derek standing between his legs before tucking his fingers into the elastic band of Derek's boxer briefs, sloppily kissing along the defined 'V' muscle as he pulled them down.

With Derek freed from the offending fabric, Stiles wrapped his lips around the flushed tip of his cock and stuck his tongue into the slit, making Derek jump. Stiles smirked. "Sensitive, babe?"

"Why don't you get back to sucking my dick and find out for yourself?" Derek responded, raising an eyebrow. Stiles stuck his tongue out at him, but then used it to lick a long strip along the underside and flick gently at the sensitive skin just under the head.

Cupping the back of Stiles' head, Derek scratched his fingers in the short hairs near the nape of his neck and groaned loudly. Enjoying the soft petting, Stiles let his eyes flutter closed and plunged down, taking Derek down to the root.

He did it again and pulled off with a cough, going back to concentrating on the tip for a minute before taking him deep again. "F-Fuck, Stiles," he groaned. "Take it deep again for me." Derek reached down and touched a finger to Stiles' throat, pressing softly as he watched his cock disappear into his mouth.

Coughing again as he came up for air, a tear formed in the corner of Stiles' eye and started to fall down his cheek. When Derek gently wiped it away, Stiles' amber eyes snapped up to meet his, wide and beautiful as he continued to bob up and down on his cock. Emotion swirled in his chest as all of Stiles' focus centered on him.

It was overwhelming, knowing that this was something that belonged to Derek alone.

With a tap on his shoulder, Derek let Stiles know that he was close. "Lie down," he said, his voice rough with emotion and need, and Stiles scooted up to top of the mattress, falling back into a pile of pillows. Derek grabbed a small tube from his nightstand before crawling between Stiles' legs and sucking the tip of his cock into his mouth.

Stiles' breath picked up as Derek coated his finger and pressed it into him. He stretched him slowly, eliciting soft moans and whimpers from Stiles before slicking his own cock and teasing it against his hole.

"Come on, already," Stiles grunted out in frustration. Leaning down, Derek placed a soft kiss on his lips and started pushing past his body's resistance. Inch by inch, he shifted in and out, reveling in the feel of Stiles' body opening up for him. Stiles wrapped his legs around the back of Derek's thighs and guided him forward until he was fully seated inside of him. "That's what I'm talking about," he said, a little breathless as he scratched his blunt fingernails up and down Derek's back.

Curling himself protectively around Stiles, Derek held still, waiting for Stiles to adjust. After a moment, Stiles reached down and playfully grabbed a handful of his ass, letting him know that he was ready for Derek to move. He began to thrust, slowly at first, and then faster as Stiles encouraged him, shifting his hips in time with Derek's.

Rocking back onto his knees, Derek sat on his heels and pulled Stiles' hips up into his lap. This way, Derek's cock hit him in just the right spot, and Stiles threw his head back, letting out a deep groan. Spitting into his palm, Stiles grabbed his cock and began to stroke it.

Derek took a moment to watch, staring down at Stiles' long, lean torso, muscles bunching under the skin as he reached forward and urged Derek to start moving again. "Impatient," Derek said, almost to himself.

Breathless, Stiles answered, "Yeah, well I'm a couple of hard thrusts from coming, so how about we get this show on the road?"

Derek chuckled. Stiles was never very good at controlling what came out of his mouth, and Derek had heard him say some fantastically filthy things when he was about to come.

He slapped Stiles' hand away and began stripping his cock as he pounded into him with short thrusts. Stiles' sharp breaths turned into broken-off moans, and his whole body tightened before his back arched hard, come painting his belly in hot stripes. Derek kept stroking his cock until every last drop leaked out and Stiles rested his hand on Derek's, starting to feel oversensitive.

Derek leaned forward for a kiss, practically folding Stiles in half and smearing come against Derek's stomach. "Your turn, babe," Stiles whispered against his lips, wrapping his legs around Derek's waist and squeezing his thighs softly.

With that cue, Derek began thrusting again, taking what he needed from Stiles. "Yeah, just like that," Stiles said, winding his arms around Derek's neck, and plunging his tongue into his mouth. Derek moved his hips in shallow thrusts as pleasure tingled at the base of his cock, and it was only a few moments before his orgasm began to roll through him in waves. He clutched Stiles to his chest tightly as he rode out the aftershocks, his muscles shivering pleasantly.

Underneath him, Stiles lay boneless, with a soft smile on his face.

"What?" Derek asked, rolling to the side.

Curling into him, Stiles rested a hand on Derek's chest. It rose and fell with his breath, still heavy from the exertion. "Nothing," he said, hiding his face in Derek's neck. Derek pulled back far enough to look at his face and raised his eyebrows in question. Stiles averted his eyes, acting embarrassed. "I'm just really happy right now, okay?"

Warmth filled Derek's chest and he knew that there was only one word to describe what he felt. He'd felt it around Stiles many times in the last few months, and had been too scared to put a name to it, but Stiles, who had already given so much of himself to Derek, deserved to know. His heartbeat sped up as he reached over and guided Stiles' gaze back to him with a fingertip on his chin.

"I love you, Stiles."

Stiles smiled back. "I know," he replied softly.

Derek snorted.

Stiles gave him an indignant look. "Oh my God. You're not supposed to laugh right now. You are a huge moment-ruiner. I should've known."

That just made Derek laugh harder. "Did you just Han Solo me?" Derek asked, feeling lighter already.

Stiles gaped at him. "Not on purpose! However, I am enjoying the fact that it makes you Leah in this relationship."

"Oh, really?" Derek asked, rolling on top of Stiles again predatorily and pinning his arms to his sides.

The tickle fight that ensued left Stiles gasping for air. "This isn't very loving behavior, Derek!" he shrieked.

So Derek smothered him with kisses instead. It was something he was looking forward to doing for a long time to come.

_The End_

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**I hope you guys enjoyed this update, and the journey for these two boys. Please drop me a line and let me know what you thought :)**


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